The Last Dance
by sweetdetection
Summary: AU, begins at the end of Season 4 with notes inside for details! Sam and Dean track serious omens to a small town in Ohio. There they will unleash something ancient and unholy -- and find help in the most unlikely of places. Daeva Chronicles: Part 1.
1. Chapter 1

**NOTES: **The idea for this story came about as I was flipping through an anthology book. And in all actuality, I had planned to use what I had learned about these supernatural beings in another story -- a work of fiction I hoped to write over my deployment to the Persian Gulf. But then, on our way to the Middle East, I bought the fourth season of Supernatural in Singapore and watched it as we sailed on, and I began writing this fan fiction. The first five chapters were completed in a blur, the next few as we lingered in the seas just outside Iran, and after that once we were safely home again. I hope you enjoy it, and I would appreciate any thoughts or criticisms you may have after reading each chapter.

IMPORTANT: this is an AU story, mostly because I wrote a lot of it before I'd seen any of the fifth season. That means this story veers wildly from the direction the show _actually _took in Season 5. Keep your eyes open for similar notes as the story progresses in order to keep confusion down to a minimum.

Please enjoy and review, and thank you!

* * *

**THE LAST DANCE  
****PART ONE: POSSESSION**

**CHAPTER ONE**

* * *

* * *

**THEN**

_Flashback to the semi truck smashing into the side of the 1967 Impala, the Winchester family is inside the car battered from the crash, Sam is calling his brother's name. Next, John Winchester is in his hospital bed, making a deal for Dean's life with the yellow-eyed demon Azazel. We see the Devil's Gate opening and John Winchester wrestling with Azazel, and then Dean shoots the demon with the Colt. Lastly, we see a ghostly John Winchester smiling proudly at his sons, perhaps for the last time…_

* * *

**NOW  
**FREDRICKTOWN, OHIO

"_I've got a bad, __**bad**__ reputation_ -- !"

"Dean."

"_Ever hear the story, 'bout a travelin man, could have any woman, palm of his hand--_"

"_Dean._"

Dean Winchester stopped singing along to the radio and drumming on the steering wheel of his Chevy Impala, although under extreme duress. He might have pointed out that no one, not even Sam, interrupted the Damn Yankees, and especially not _Bad Reputation_ -- not in _his_ car -- but Sam was giving him that look again. Dean sighed. He'd been getting it a lot lately. He returned his gaze to the road after giving his younger sibling a thoroughly bored look, and he waited for the familiar criticism to start. He'd been getting that a lot lately, too.

"You do remember that we're on the brink of the _apocalypse,_ right?"

Dean expression was sourly amused. "So they tell me."

"And we're headed to nowhere, Ohio."

"Presently? Yes."

"Why, again?"

"Because there's some bad mojo going down, Sammy. Serious bad. And because this is what we do. Remember? Driving around, saving people?" Dean glanced Sam's way. "People are dying. Nasty, nightmare deaths. You really wanna sit around and let that happen while we wait for an angel gram?"

"I'm just…I'm just trying to remember that there's a bigger picture here. Lilith is still out there, Dean. She's still breaking those seals, faster than ever."

"Yeah, well, I haven't heard from Cass in nearly two weeks, and it's been longer since we've had another pleasant visit from your demon girlfriend--"

"Ruby's not my girlfriend, Dean."

"Whatever." Dean's mouth had twisted with distaste at the mention of her. "Point is, they're MIA and this is all we got right now. And who's to say this isn't another one of those seals you're so crazy about?"

"Yeah." Sam sighed, clearly unconvinced. "Yeah, okay."

The brothers lapsed into silence, and Dean felt again that something very fundamental had changed while he had been in hell. Sam was not comfortable with him anymore. He played his cards close to his chest now, preferring to keep his thoughts and insights to himself. Dean felt at times that his brother was planning something. Something big. Something unpleasant. But he didn't ask, and Sam didn't volunteer, and the silence remained unmolested. Eventually, Sam dug out his laptop and began searching for clues as to what they were up against. But he did not speak and, brooding, Dean didn't either. In this fashion, the brothers entered Fredricktown, Ohio.

"Geez," said Dean as they made their way down main street. "This place is the size of my thumbnail."

Sam rolled his eyes.

"Any idea what we're up against?"

Sam, whose attention was still focused on his laptop, shook his head. "From the details we have, mostly from the local newspapers, it could be almost anything. Vengeful spirit, shape shifter. Hell, one of the deaths even sounds like a standard werewolf attack." Sam glanced up and caught the glimmer of excitement in Dean's eyes. He frowned at the older Winchester, but Dean only grinned back. "Guess we won't know for sure until we see it ourselves."

"Feels like the old days." Dean hammered out a drumbeat on the steering wheel again. "I miss the old days." Then he cranked up the song and resumed singing along, oblivious to Sam's wince. He was in a helluva mood all of a sudden. Maybe this case would help him find the old Sammy again. Maybe this case would be straightforward. Simple. Like the ones they used to work, before yellow-eyes.

He would be disappointed.

* * *

The building was old, and abandoned, and used to be a schoolhouse. To Dean, it appeared like it hadn't been touched in 100 years. Sam thought, more realistically, that it had been empty for more like thirty. He had wanted to do a little more research and find out for sure, but Dean had insisted they get a look as soon as possible, and here they were -- with no idea of the history of the building. This made Sam uncomfortable. Presently, they were standing in a classroom, and that ill-at-ease feeling Sam had was increasing. But whatever it was didn't seem to be bugging Dean, who was all but humming as he wandered through the aisles of dusty desks. Sam followed more cautiously, but the room stayed quiet.

"How many people got ganked here?"

Sam wrinkled his nose at the term. "Six so far, all within a couple miles of this school."

"So that makes you think this is the origin?"

"Well, there's nothing else out here, for one. And it's been abandoned for a while -- a nice, out of the way place to camp out if you're staging some of that bad mojo. It's perfect."

Dean opened his mouth to reply just as all hell broke loose. The floor just in front of him erupted, ragged planks of hardwood flying through the air, and one or two struck Dean in the chest as he threw his arms up to protect his face.

"Jesus," Dean snapped, and he was flung across the room by a beautiful, angry female form. Sam squinted, trying to observe any details that might help him identify what they were up against, but the specifics seemed to slip right out of his mind. She turned to him while he was distracted and lifted her hand, and Sam began to feel a burning pain rising in him, choking him --

And then, just as it got to be too white-hot to bear, a form stepped before him and there was relief and a blinding light.

"Cass," he heard Dean groan.

The angel Castiel lifted his hand and with a shriek, the woman-thing disappeared, retreating from the pure, white light that had accompanied the angel's appearance. When she was gone, the angel turned to the brothers, his face a familiar mask, both stern and blank.

"Been awhile. But I suppose you do get a ten for the fashionably late entrance." Dean was dragging himself to his feet. "You here to tell us that getting our asses kicked by a chick is another seal?"

Castiel only stared. He didn't even attempt a reply. Dean dusted off his jacket and said, mostly to himself, "Yeesh, tough crowd."

"You're in over your heads here," Castiel said. Dean spit blood.

"Oh yeah? She didn't seem so tough."

"She," Castiel replied, his tone implying that he lacked a better word for the creature, "is not alone."

"What is she?" Sam asked.

Castiel shook his head. "Old. And nasty. That's all I know."

"Well." Dean picked up his shotgun and managed a bloody parody of a smile. "We're not just gonna leave the people here in this town to die. So I guess we'll find out on our own."

"Dean--" said Castiel, a warning, and Dean's smile evaporated.

"It's not up for discussion, Cass. We're staying until we kill it. Or them."

Sam looked like he wanted to protest, but he recognized the set of Dean's jaw and said nothing. Wisely. When dealing with angels, it was best to present a united front. Castiel looked at them both and then he turned away. He was familiar with the formidable will of the Winchesters. It was not the first time they'd butted heads.

"Why are you here, Cass?" Dean asked, wiping the last of the blood from his face.

"Something's going on here. Not even Zachariah knows much. But the demons won't come here, except for Lilith."

Sam perked up. "Lilith's been here?"

Castiel nodded. "Zachariah was under the impression that she came here to make some sort of deal with these creatures. We're looking into it."

"Looking into it." Dean snorted. He smiled, but there was no humor in it, just the old, familiar anger. "Right, well. While you're doing your homework, Sam and I will be doing _your_ job, huh? We'll handle that bitch and her friends, and then there won't be a deal to make."

Castiel's gaze had returned to Dean, and Sam could tell that the angel was frustrated. He almost smiled -- only Dean could manage to frustrate an angel of God. There was a long moment of silence as the elder Winchester and heaven's warrior stared each other down, and then Castiel nodded.

"Don't go in half-cocked, Dean. Let me find out what we're up against here, bring reinforcements." Dean opened his mouth to protest and Castiel held up his hand. "Dean. I'm here to help. Let me."

Sam watched his brother, for once, back down. It was in that moment that he realized how much Dean actually respected Castiel. The trust he had lost in Sam had been transferred, at least partially, to the angel, probably without his brother realizing it. But Sam could tell -- he knew that, in spite of himself -- Dean _liked_ Cass. He looked down at his feet and wondered, again, how they had gotten here. How they had become like strangers to each other.

"I'm not gonna sit back and let more people die, Cass, so you'd better hurry."

Castiel held Dean's gaze and then he was gone, leaving behind him the faint impression of beating wings. Dean's shoulders sagged and he grasped his bruised rib, his bravado fleeing with the angel. His eyes turned to Sam and Sam could see he was in pain. He went to his brother, his fingers probing Dean's ribcage, making sure nothing was broken. Dean winced but he allowed his brother to play field medic. They looked at each other and Sam saw the grimness in those familiar green eyes.

"Cass is worried," he said. Sam dropped his eyes to where his fingers were probing. He nodded after a moment. "That makes me a little worried."

"It's a job, Dean. Remember?"

Dean's smile was wry and cold as he realized his argument was being used against him. "Sure, yeah. I remember."

"Maybe it's time for us to do_ our_ homework." He and Dean began walking out of the building toward the Impala. "I think I saw a motel a couple miles back."

"A couple." Dean snorted. "More like fifteen. But you're right. The _Persian Prince._"

"Come on, I'll drive."

Dean shot Sam a look and said, "You think so, huh?"

Sam smiled, and his brother caught a familiar silver flash in his hand. He groaned.

"I already lifted your keys, Dean."

* * *

"Any luck?" Dean was pacing. Sam glanced at him from his position on the bed, annoyed, and then he refocused on his laptop.

"Not really. If Castiel had been a little more specific about her buddies, this might be easier."

Dean threw a wad of paper at the motel room wall. "Yeah, well, I'm sure you've noticed he's not one for specifics."

"Maybe I should call Bobby." Sam dug through his discarded jacket for his cell phone. "He might be able to find out. He usually knows."

"A lifetime of huntin'll do that to ya." Dean balled up another piece of motel stationary. "I'm just wondering what has enough juice to worry an angel."

"Well, Cass isn't exactly high up on the food chain."

Dean shook his head. "I dunno, man. There are times I feel like he's not telling us everything. But not this time. This time I think he really doesn't know. And neither do his big, bad bosses."

Sam paused in his digital search. He almost, _almost_ suggested leaving town until they had more information. Until they were better prepared. But he knew Dean would never agree. And something else held him back, something more sinister. Something in his blood was reacting to this place, to a powerful presence in the area. Sam wasn't even sure he _could_ leave, now that they were here. And that wasn't something he could share with his brother, either. Dean would only assume it was the demon blood in him, the disease, and Sam just wasn't in the mood for another fight. Frankly, he had long grown tired of his brother questioning his loyalties.

"Anything in the town's history?"

Sam came back from his musings and resumed skimming websites. Then he shook his head. "Not much. Nothing outside the normal rash of car accidents and domestic disputes. Couple of rowdy kids. But over the past few weeks…I dunno. Something's changed here, Dean, and it started very recently."

Dean stopped pacing. "So…any new additions to town?"

Sam shook his head again. "Not even any births, not since this place started to heat up. Something just…_changed_."

"Yeah, well…not so hard to believe, not these days." Dean sat on the opposite bed. "I guess you're right, time to call Bobby. But you make sure he doesn't get in his car and come rushing up here. No sense in all of us sitting here trussed up like Christmas geese. If something goes bad, I'd rather have him ready to raise the alarm."

"You know we'll probably be dead at that point."

Dean grinned and shrugged. "Gotta die sometime. Again."

"I hope you're not trusting Castiel to come to any last-minute rescues," Sam said, serious. Dean shot him a look, his grin long gone. He narrowed his eyes at his brother.

"I hope we're a long way from talking about last-minute rescues," he countered. "But I doubt Cass would pass up the opportunity to save my ass. He still needs me."

"Yeah, he keeps saying that, but--" Sam clamped his mouth shut around the words that came next. _But you're just human, Dean, and not as strong as you used to be._

"But?" Dean asked, eyebrow raised.

"But we've already had some pretty close calls. He may not be able to save us, when the time comes."

Dean was still for a long moment, processing. And then he shrugged and flopped back on the bed. "Maybe not. But we're not leaving. So we may as well expect anything. We'll unload the car in the morning."

"Yeah. Sure." Sam closed his laptop. "I'll call Bobby, I guess."

Dean grunted and closed his eyes, and in a moment was asleep. Sam sat and stared at his brother for a long time. Lying there quietly, unsuspicious, trusting his brother. Or maybe it was just his own instincts Dean had such blind faith in. Then, with suddenly reluctant fingers, he picked up his phone and called Bobby Singer.

* * *

Dean woke suddenly in the middle of the night. He'd been having a dream, a fighting dream. A dream where a great and terrible beast writhed under his feet as he lifted a pure, shining silver spear over his head and brought it down, hard, and the thing beneath him had his brother's face at the moment of impact, his brother's tortured face--

"Dean."

He sat up. Sam was already awake. He was bathed in the cold light of his computer screen, and his expression was grim. Still shaking off the afterimages of his nightmare, Dean dragged a hand over his face and almost didn't need to ask. But he did.

"What's wrong?"

"Someone else died."

Dean was, unfortunately, not surprised. "When?"

"Tonight. Just a few hours ago. The preliminary police report says the victim appeared to be crushed, but there isn't anything at the scene that would've caused that kind of damage to the body."

"Sorry?" Dean said, coming more fully awake very quickly. "_Crushed?_ What the hell does _that?_"

"I dunno." Sam glanced up over the top of his laptop. "Neither does Bobby, not in conjunction with the other deaths so far."

"Crushed," Dean repeated. He didn't say anything else.

"I've been digging into lore ever since I heard." Sam nailed Dean with a very serious look. "Do you have Dad's journal?"

Dean frowned back at him. "Wasn't it in the knapsack?"

Sam's lips firmed and he shook his head.

"What the he--?"

A crimson flash cut Dean off. A thick, sulfurous smell filled the room. Sam struggled for and flung his flask of holy water at the figure that had appeared in between the two motel beds. It didn't seem to bother the thing, and it grabbed for him, its nails like claws. They cut deep into the skin of his arm, and to Sam it felt as though the whole room was filled with something thunderous, something wrathful and ancient. He could hear Dean shouting as he slipped free of the thing's grasp, but it lunged for him again, pulling hard: it wanted to take his whole arm, and it was making a concentrated effort. Dean shot at it, he feel more than heard the explosion of the rock salt shells, but they hit the thing without seeming to even attract its attention. Sam dragged himself free, earning more claw marks in the process, and Dean swung at it, using the full weight of the weapons-heavy knapsack, hoping to distract it from Sam long enough to prevent it from grabbing him again.

Sam scrabbled for his knife as the thing turned on Dean, ripping its claws across his chest. Dean recoiled, swinging a silver blade at it. It took a swipe across its forearm and didn't even pause in its assault. Then Sam sunk Ruby's knife into its back. It jerked away, and the knife clattered to the floor. The thing, which had taken a male, human form, hissed something at Sam and then disappeared, leaving both Winchesters bloody.

Dean was sprawled out on his back on the floor, and he let his head drop back to the carpet, panting. "What the hell _are_ these things?"

"I dunno." Sam rolled onto his knees. "But the only thing that it even flinched from was the knife."

Dean looked at his brother, disbelieving. "You think it was a demon?"

Sam looked at the knife and shook his head slowly. "I -- I don't know.'

"Great. Just great. If it is a demon, and if it is somehow immune to the knife -- not to mention holy water -- then what do we fight it with?"

And then they just looked at each other, afraid there wasn't an answer. This lasted for one long, long moment before the door opened itself. Dean rolled onto his feet and stood straight, still bleeding from the gashes on his chest.

"Cass," he said. "About time you showed up."

Castiel walked in, his eyes drinking in the trashed motel room, the strewn knapsack and its assortment of weaponry, the bruised and beaten Winchesters. He said nothing for a very long time, and Sam wondered if he had shown up late on purpose. But he supposed it was a sin to doubt God's warrior, so he kept his thoughts to himself.

"I'm not asking you this time, Dean. You need to leave here. This is too big, even for God's chosen." He did not miss Sam's miniscule finch, and he stared at the younger brother with fathomless eyes for one very long moment. Castiel reached for him; Dean, however, stayed out of the angel's reach.

"Might have gone easier with a little angelic help," he snapped. "And anyway, not happenin." He shrugged out of his jacket and tattered shirt. "So, you wanna tell me where you were while we were getting torn to bits by our new pal? Since you so conveniently showed up _right after_ all the action."

Castiel's mouth tightened at the implied accusation. "I'm not your babysitter. I_ did_ warn you."

Dean shrugged that off. "Well?"

"I was…temporarily prevented, you could say, from returning here. And I had a…a mission."

"He took Dad's journal." Sam stopped dressing his arm long enough to send the angel a penetrating glance, the details coming clear in his mind.

"Yes," Castiel said, without shame. "I took it to someone who may become quite a help to us."

Dean stared at him, trying to remember how useless it was to be angry with an angel. He said, carefully, "You might have tried asking."

Castiel only stared back.

"Who'd you give it to, Cass? _What_ did you give it to?'

Castiel didn't respond in any way, and, temper flaring, Dean stepped into the angel's space. His face was furious, but Castiel didn't seem in any way intimidated. And Sam supposed he shouldn't be. They had nothing in their formidable arsenal that could harm an angel.

"Did you give it to an angel? Hm? A hunter?" Dean's teeth were bared. "A _demon?_"

"Don't be stupid, Dean." Castiel's face twisted slightly, and he was obviously beginning to get angry. But he did not back away from Dean. "Of course I didn't turn it over to the demons."

"Well you gotta give me something, buddy. Cuz you're being awful vague about what's going on here."

"It's safe. It will be returned," Castiel said. "That's all you need to know at this junction."

"Right, right. Well, I'm sure you had your holy reasons or whatever. When's the cavalry arrive in that case, hm?"

"I don't think you understand, Dean--"

"Just stop, Cass," Sam said, remembering again how disappointed the angels always made him feel. He had prayed for so long -- and yet the warriors and messengers of God were cold and distant. And even though it was Sam, _Sam_ who had looked to heaven for guidance and help, for answers, it was Dean that was God's chosen one. Castiel only served to remind Sam that he was unclean. Tainted with demon blood, maybe even spinning out of control. Azazel was the only one who thought him worth choosing -- Azazel and Ruby. The demons.

Castiel turned to Dean who, with a pained expression, broke the gaze. The angel paused a moment longer, as if trying to impart some understanding between them, and then he was just _gone_, the space he had occupied only a moment before suddenly empty. Sam breathed out slowly and Dean rummaged through his strewn possessions for a fresh shirt to wear after tearing his previous one into bandages for his chest. _We're thrifty, us Winchesters, _thought Sam, bitterly, and he tied off his own makeshift bandage.

"Dick," he said. Dean pulled a shirt out from under a chair.

"Holy pain in my ass," he agreed. "We gotta find out who he gave Dad's journal to."

"You think it has something in it about what's happening in this town?"

Dean shrugged. "Was there anything Dad _hadn't_ heard of? If it's evil and it really exists, it's in that journal."

Sam took a breath and nodded. And he had no idea where an angel might go for help.

* * *

**FURTHER NOTES:**

I hope you'll forgive me for the lapse continuity. I wanted to set this story toward the end of season four, just before Lucifer rises, mostly because -- though it tore my heart -- I love the disintegrating relationship between Sam and Dean, and the dynamic between Dean and Castiel. Like it or not, Castiel almost became a replacement for Sam, at least in as much as a companion, someone Dean could rely on. And Castiel's growing crisis of faith also compelled me. But I didn't want duality in Castiel -- I wanted to write him after we know about Jimmy and his family, after Jimmy seemed to bow out and let Castiel take the reins. And that's where things got a little messy. In this story, clearly Castiel has not been dragged back to heaven for a spanking ( or whatever it was that happened there in 4x19 ), nor have Bobby and Dean tried to wean Sam off of the demon's blood. So you'll have to forgive me for the inconsistencies. I like to think of this story as taking place somewhere between the backlash of Jimmy Novack's story, and before the total destruction of Sam and Dean's relationship in episodes 20 and 21.

I have taken some liberties here with the town of my father, which does exist. I spent my summers in Fredricktown's country outskirts as a child, before my grandparents moved to Virginia. I hope anyone familiar with the area will forgive me the liberties.

Also, you will see a lot of Castiel in the coming chapters, which is a little out of context for season four, but I like him, I like his cool-customer attitude. I like the way he and Dean butt heads. And anyway, it's my story, and it can't be changed, too much Castiel or not ( which, I think, is impossible, but that may just be me ).


	2. Chapter 2

**NOTES: **So there's a change in casting in this chapter. Since this was written before Season 5, our archangel should be thought of as looking and sounding like the terribly handsome and talented Mr. Henry Cavill. Further notes are included after the chapter to clear up any confusion.

* * *

**THE LAST DANCE  
****CHAPTER TWO**

* * *

If Sam had thought for very long about where an angel would go for help, the answer might have been obvious to him. The angel Castiel, with John Winchester's journal in hand, went to his Father's house. And there, in the quiet sanctuary, he paused to pray. Inside him was Jimmy Novack, who had retreated deep into the back of his mind after his family's rescue. Lately, Castiel had had his thoughts to himself. He wished he could mourn the loss of the Novack family with his human host, but Jimmy watched on in silence, as detached from current events as he could make himself. He had accepted with icy finality that he would never see his wife and daughter again -- that they would go on with their lives, and he would remain as he was, without them. And the last person that Jimmy wanted to confide his grief in was the angel. So Castiel knelt before the alter feeling empty and alone. His lips moved silently and he strove for the peace and grace he normally received during prayer.

It eluded him, and the longer he knelt there, the further the answers seemed to be. His brow furrowed and he concentrated harder, his whole body bent before the alter of Christ. It was a long time before he sat up in the pew, still troubled. And then someone cleared their throat softly behind him. Castiel stood and turned and saw a man who looked remarkably like Dean Winchester, only perhaps a little older. And yet when he spoke, his accent marked him as English.

"You seem…restless."

Castiel felt something very _extra_ about the man in front of him. Something familiar and a little intimidating. The man smiled slightly and nodded.

"I know who you are, angel Castiel."

"You do." It was not a question. Castiel tensed, ready for an attack even in this, the house of the Lord.

"Yes, certainly. And you have no doubt heard of me as well. Although I daresay it's been a long time since I have walked among my own kind." The man walked toward the alter, pausing before it to bow, and Castiel watched closely, still tense. The man was an angel, or so he was beginning to suspect, but Uriel had been an angel, too. Castiel had survived the war so far only by being cautious.

"Have I?" he asked.

"Sure." The man looked over his shoulder and his smile was not unfriendly. "It's an honor, brother Castiel. I am Gabriel."

Castiel felt a chill. His blue eyes were wide and serious under his surprise.

"Gabriel," he repeated. "The archangel."

"So you have heard of me." Gabriel crossed himself as he rose, and touched his fingers to his lips. He was graceful, powerful, and his human host was youthful and fit.

"Of course I have." Castiel felt real fear. Archangels were completely righteous -- they didn't ever doubt, didn't ever hesitate. They alone had looked upon the face of God. If Gabriel sensed Castiel's quiet misgivings and sympathies, he would kill him without blinking. "No one's seen you in a thousand years."

Gabriel nodded. "Call it a…working vacation. I have been preparing for these last of days, Castiel. Fortifying myself. And now I return and I find my brothers have been falling, and the seals breaking." He looked at the junior angel, then placed his hand on his shoulder. "You have fought very bravely, with great faith and courage."

Castiel said nothing, unable to break away from Gabriel's gaze.

"The end is almost here. That's what I have been waiting for. Take me to Dean Winchester, and we'll stop this onslaught together."

The implications of having an archangel as an ally were staggering, and Castiel was frozen for a few long moments. His instincts warned him to be cautious, that Gabriel's offering was a stunning stroke of luck he'd be a fool to take at face value. But an archangel to help them battle Lilith… Still, until he was sure, exposing the archangel to Dean and Sam was out of the question.

"Forgive me, but…why?" he asked. "If you're under no orders to fight with us…why _are_ you?"

Gabriel smiled patiently. He said, quietly, "Because I love them."

Castiel's face hardened. He looked away from the archangel and felt stupid for thinking that fighting alongside a long-lost legend might be possible. This was a trap. And Gabriel had never been what Michael was.

"We don't love," Castiel said, grim. Gabriel smiled again, and there was real tenderness in that smile, as if the junior angel was a favored, if naive, pupil.

"Of course we can. Present leadership may have forgotten, but we were created to love our Father. That we fight for Him is one example of the power of that love. Castiel -- do you really think you can live among the humans for long and _not_ come to love them? Even with all of their faults?"

Castiel didn't respond. The truth was that Dean was _changing_ him, and he'd suspected it for a long time. Gabriel sensed his inner turmoil and laid a hand on his shoulder again.

"I understand. Come to me when you're ready, Castiel. I am here to help -- you _and_ Dean Winchester."

And then Castiel was alone in the church, with the journal lying on the pew beside him, and he knew it was time to finish seeking its rightful owner, though he'd been given much to think about. He picked up the leather book and held it for a moment, and then he carried on. Time, after all, was not on his side.

* * *

She woke and there was a man sitting on her bed, and the night was still -- too still -- around them. Auden Pace should have been scared, but something in her knew him, even without her ever having seen him before.

"John," said the man with the tousled dark hair. He turned his head and looked at her over his shoulder, so serious. She got the impression of great solitude from his penetrating blue gaze.

"Angel," replied her voice, but it was not her that was speaking. And then John Winchester surged to the forefront of her mind. For a moment her vision was completely obscured by grey clouds, and then she found herself riding shotgun in her own body.

"You've been hiding for a long time."

"Nothing so passive."

The man nodded. "Yes, I know of your…extra-curricular activities. Though you've taken great pains to cover your tracks."

The possessed girl said nothing for a long moment, and then, "You're Castiel. The angel that's piggybacking my boys."

Castiel nodded. "I'm here to ask for your help on their behalf."

"And then what, you send me back to hell? Kill me? Or do I get a get-out-of-jail-free card?"

Castiel didn't reply and John/Auden nodded. "I thought so. How are my boys?"

"Alive," Castiel replied. "For now."

"I'm not sure I can help."

Castiel stood and looked down at the girl that was hosting John Winchester's spirit. Then he held out a very familiar notebook -- John's journal -- and those blue eyes offered no mercy or quarter.

"Your sons are in trouble. I can only do so much -- the evil here is old. We're aware that Lilith is interested in whatever is killing those people, but we don't know why, and frankly, we're having trouble getting close."

"And what do you want me to do?"

"I can take you to them. You may be able to help them identify what it is that's there, and help keep your sons alive long enough to kill them."

"An angel asking a demon for help." John/Auden snorted.

"You're not a demon, John." But Castiel didn't know what to call him. And after a long moment, John/Auden stopped waiting for him to elaborate.

"Take me to them, then." The girl stood. "I'm assuming, of course, that your interest in Sam and Dean is not completely unselfish."

Castiel hesitated. "Dean has been chosen by God."

John did not answer.

"I do not envy your son, and still, I would take on this burden myself, if I could. The best I can do for him is fight with him, when my orders permit."

"God in heaven." John/Auden laughed quietly as he dressed the girl's body. "You like him, don't you? You've made a friend out of a human."

Castiel only stared with cool, unruffled blue eyes. Then he reached out, touched the girl's forehead, and took them both to Ohio.

* * *

The door to the motel room blew open, and Dean and Sam were both on their feet bringing their guns to bear when Castiel walked in. Dean lowered his sawed-off shotgun and sighed, annoyance warring with relief that it was a friend and not a foe coming through the door. He'd had enough of being thrown around the room for a while.

"Jeez, Cass -- you ever hear of knocking?"

Castiel ignored the sarcasm. He said, "I've brought help."

Sam was already staring at the girl that had followed the angel in. And he'd already noticed his father's journal in her hands. His grip tightened on his gun. She didn't look like any hunter he'd ever met.

Dean had noticed, too. He looked at Castiel. "Dad's journal. This is the cavalry we've been expecting?"

Castiel nodded.

"Well Christ, Cass, don't strain yourself on our behalf." Dean twisted away, running a hand through his hair in frustration. His expression was grim.

"Dean, it's not what you think--" Castiel started.

"Then what is it, Cass?" Sam interjected, a familiar start to a familiar argument, and Dean braced himself to break the two of them up, but the girl stepped between the angel and his brother before he could. Her hand went to Sam's shoulder, an eerily familiar gesture, and she squeezed.

"Hello, Sammy," she said, and the youngest Winchester recoiled. Even Dean froze, and then his eyes flew to Castiel for confirmation. The angel nodded, his lips in a tight line, and Dean found his voice first.

"D…ad?"

The girl turned to him, and though the face was a stranger's, he recognized that wry, quiet smile. She nodded, and there was a suspicious dampness about her eyes.

"Hey, Dean. Been awhile."

Up until this precise moment, Dean had never expected to see his father again. They'd never received any word of him after the Devil's Gate had opened and Azazel had been killed. Quietly, Dean had always hoped that his father still existed somehow, although he'd never voiced this to anyone, not even Sam. And if Sam had similar hopes, he had never confided in Dean, either. But even though Dean had always expected his dad was out there, somewhere, it was still startling to be in the same room with his old man again. Especially when he was in the body of a young female.

"It's been quite a while," John said again, and both boys nodded. "Castiel here tells me you're in bad trouble."

"Yeah," Dean said. "That's what he tells us, too."

Sam was ominously quiet. A quick glance in his direction revealed that he was pensive and skeptical. Dean knew what that meant, and from the look on the girl's face, their father did, too. Dean supposed he shouldn't have expected easy acceptance from Sam, but he was surprised at the mild hostility in Sam's expression.

"What's on your mind, Sam?" John asked.

"Why…why did you stay away for so long, dad? Why not tell us where you were, get word to us somehow? Why let us think you were gone?"

"Sam--"

"And why possess someone at all? Why take this girl's body?"

"Your father hasn't been intrusive, Sam," Castiel started, but Sam held up his hand, his eyebrow arched.

"I sold my soul, Sam. There is no hitching a quick ride with a reaper into oblivion. And I have left this girl alone…until Castiel showed up and told me you boys were in trouble. I'm not a monster, Sam. But my options _are_ limited."

Dean was looking away, his jaw working. This was another experience the two elder Winchesters shared, one more thing Dam could not understand. But there was more to it. Dean had broken, their father had not. Sam could sense his brother's deep shame. Castiel was watching too, and he missed nothing. Sam could see the suppressed concern. Once, no one had known Dean better than Sam. Now they were becoming strangers, angels and demons driving wedges so deep between them that maybe there was no going back.

"I stayed away because…well, there were a lot of reasons. But I would never abandon you boys. Not completely."

It was strange to hear his father's words in a stranger's voice -- a female's voice -- and Sam looked away.

"How much do you know?" Dean asked.

"About the, uh…current events? Little enough. I've been…out of touch. But what I have found out is that Lilith is keeping much closer tabs on you boys than you think, and the angels don't seem to concern her." The girl looked to Castiel. "She thinks you are too righteous and splintered to be much of a help, and from what I've seen, she's right. Holy zeal you may have, but…it's _passion_ that wins a war."

"It can lose wars, too," Castiel said quietly.

The girl ignored him and looked at Sam. And it was in that moment that he realized John Winchester _knew_. He knew everything -- his need for the demon blood, his wildly fluctuating powers, his affair with Ruby and his subsequently splintering relationship with his brother. Hairline cracks ran through him and shame seeped in, made worse by the aching sorrow he saw in the girl's gaze. There was no condemnation, but Sam felt outcast just the same. He felt sometimes that his humanity was slipping through his fingers, and the way Dean looked at him sometimes…that made the feeling worse.

"And…do you know anything about our present situation?" Dean asked, breaking the spell between father and son. The girl shook her head and held up the journal.

"Not yet, but I have a few ideas. Sit down and tell me what you know. We'll know where to go from there."

* * *

THREE HOURS LATER

John and Sam were buried in research, going off of what little the brothers had been able to put together between attacks and Castiel's arrival. Dean took advantage of the study hour to step outside, feeling like he might come out of his skin if he stayed cooped up with them any longer. He wandered out into the parking lot, his fingers rubbing down the sides of his mouth -- a gesture of stress that he had picked up from his father. And as he walked, Castiel came to join him.

"You seem troubled, Dean."

Dean made a semi-amused noise, his teeth bared in a ferocious grin. The angel placed his hand on Dean's shoulder, and they both stopped walking. The angel didn't speak again -- he didn't have to. Dean's eyes flickered away, unable to hold Castiel's steady gaze.

"How do I face him, Cass?"

Castiel's grip tightened on his shoulder. "He's your father, Dean. He isn't here to judge you."

"All that time in Hell…and he never gave in." Dean's smile was ghastly and pale. "I didn't even last half that long."

"Dean--"

"Everything that's happening is my fault. I broke, I gave in. I let this happen."

Castiel shook him gently. "You can't change fate, Dean. I've told you this before. You may have started this, but you _will_ end it. And your father is here to help you."

Dean nodded, unsure if he could ever meet his father's gaze again. Castiel let him have the silence for a long moment, and then he said, "You are both men, Dean. Your father is not a greater man than you."

"You don't know my father." Dean's voice was harsh with emotion.

"God chose you, Dean. He chose you to save us all. But you must believe you're worthy of being chosen."

"And if I'm not?" Dean looked at the angel, unsure why he sounded so angry. Castiel shook his head.

"You are," he replied, and Dean blinked, and was alone again. He glanced around the empty parking lot, then sighed.

"Dick," he said to the empty air, and he headed back inside.

* * *

**Notes:**There were two crucial introductions to make in this chapter, two introductions that I'm still not sure I got right. The first: Archangel Gabriel. The second: John Winchester.

This Gabriel ( written well before the Gabriel which appears in the actual show ) is a mystery, even to me, and especially here, in his beginning in the story. I think his ambiguousness is part of what makes him so much fun, and so dangerous -- even to me. For the role, I have always cast in my mind the English actor Mr. Henry Cavill. If you are a fan of the show "The Tudors," you will know him as Charles Brandon, Duke of Sussex. I needed our merry band of demon-hunters to have a powerful ally, one that maybe they cannot trust, and there will be repercussions as far as Castiel is concerned. And that is the only teaser I'll give you.

As for John Winchester…well, originally I was going to have Auden Pace be a stand-alone character, sort of an expert on the subject. And then I thought, who greater an expert than John Winchester? Nor was there any indication of what happened to him following his disappearance on the threshold of the Devil's Gate. The choice of a female host seemed to me classic Winchester misdirection, and the mystery of why John stayed away is something that will be more fully explored as the story goes on. For now, I thought this battle big enough to reunite the sons with their legendary father -- and for Dean to deal with the lingering insecurities he has about his time in Hell, and his father's.

As an aside, my favorite part of this chapter is probably the end, when Castiel and Dean have their little palaver. But then, I bet you could have guessed that…

Any thoughts or criticisms you may have are welcome, and I hope to see you back in chapter three!


	3. Chapter 3

**THE LAST DANCE  
****CHAPTER THREE**

* * *

John and Sam looked up as Dean strode into the motel room and they looked rather triumphant, and in that moment of victory, Dean decided to notice what a pretty girl his father had chosen as a hostess. He was good at deferring the serious, even in his own thought process. But even he couldn't stay distracted forever.

"Dad found them," Sam said.

"Great. Super." Dean plopped on one of the beds. "What are they?"

"Daevas," said John. Sam had that look he got whenever he discovered something he hadn't ever encountered before, that excited look that used to make Dean chuckle to himself a little -- their little collegian, Sam.

"Daevas." Dean had never heard of them, but he had a feeling he was about to be given a crash course, and so he sat down on the motel bed and motioned for the lecture to begin.

"They're ancient Persian, Zoroastrian in origin, first called _dews_." Sam was shuffling through an anthropology book.

"Ancient Iranian for _gods_," John clarified. "At first they were gods that did not know the difference between truth and lies, and they were always accidentally deceiving themselves and their human followers."

"But as time went on, people believed them to be increasingly evil in origin," Sam continued. "They became known as the Rejected, or anti-gods."

"Anti-gods." Dean frowned. "Sounds like…"

"Demons," John said, and nodded.

"There are nearly forty of them altogether, and they encompass the full spectrum of nastiness -- lies, sloth, greed, that sort of thing. But dad and I think that we're dealing with very specific daevas."

"Specific how?" Dean asked, relatively sure he wouldn't like the answer. His family didn't disappoint him, though he wished they would have.

"We think," said John, "that we're dealing with the six arch-demons."

"Uh, pardon? _Arch-demons?_" Dean was beginning to think Castiel had been right about getting out of dodge on this one. His father nodded.

"I ran across their trail once, tracking down Yellow-Eyes. They've been tearing a swath of destruction across all through the northern states, from Montana to Wisconsin. I traced them back, and it looks like they were behind the Dust Bowl. That was maybe around when they arrived in the United States in numbers. And I'm not sure, but the lesser daevas could be functioning as an army for them."

This, none of this, was comforting news to Dean. He leaned on his elbows, which were on his knees, and looked slightly overwhelmed. "Arch-demons," he repeated, right about the same time Sam's cell phone rang.

"Bobby," he heard Sam say, but Dean's attention was drifting. He knew Sam would be trying to explain their father's sudden reemergence from the land of the lost, but his focus was on the significance of six big bad bosses in this tiny town. And where the hell had Castiel gone off to again? For one of the harp-and-halo brigade, Dean thought Castiel was rather useful to have around in a pinch -- provided he show up, anyway. And news like this was probably something the angel would want to know. Not to mention he could use a little heavenly assistance against arch-demons.

"Any idea how to kill these things?" he asked his father. John looked at him, then glanced down at his journal.

"Fire, although this is not specific. The reading of holy scripture -- Zoroastrian or the Qur'an, I think -- and the righteous and divine."

Dean perked. "As in…_angelic_ righteous and divine?"

John nodded. "That would be my assumption."

"Dad…" Dean hesitated. "I know you said you didn't know much, but…how up on current events are you? Really?"

John paused, contemplating. "I know the apocalypse is coming, and I know the angels think you have a major role to play. Before or during, I'm not sure. I know Sam has been hunting with a demon." He stopped there for a moment. "Which is a damn fool idea."

"You don't have to tell me." Dean shook his head. "So you know everything I know."

John nodded again and did not say how he knew. Dean decided not to ask -- not just yet, anyway. There was a moment of silence, and Dean studied the young woman before him. She reminded him of his mother back when she had been a young hunter, but this girl had longer, darker hair and greener eyes. He wondered why his father had chosen this girl, and not some young Marine. But if John picked up on his musings, he offered no answers.

"Did you know I broke the first seal?" he asked suddenly.

John sighed and nodded. "I knew."

Dean also nodded, looking away. The Winchesters, both father and son, did not speak, and finally Dean picked up a book and began leafing through it, ending the discussion. John let him, wondering how to tell his son there was no blame to be laid. But Dean wouldn't believe that until he was ready to. Both of them resumed researching, and after a few moments, Sam rejoined them. He looked a little more stable after speaking to Bobby.

"He didn't know much we don't, now. Although he did say he owes _you--_" he looked at John-- "an ass kicking when you're not wearing a girl."

John smiled. "I've missed Bobby."

"He asked if he should drive up."

"No," Dean and John said at the same time. Sam looked surprised and amused for a second, and he held up his hands.

"That's what I told him."

"Let's get some sleep," John advised. "Tomorrow we start fortifying."

For once, there was no argument. The lights went out and the Winchesters -- all three of them -- slept.

* * *

Dean became aware that Castiel had returned at some point in the middle of the night. He opened his eyes, already knowing the angel would be there, and he sighed as he hauled himself to his feet.

"I think your internal clock is broken," he said as he approached Castiel, who was standing near the window. Castiel turned to him.

"How's that?" he asked, too serious.

"Showin' up right after the festivities, insisting on getting me up in the middle of the night, disappearing for weeks." Dean gestured. "Seven a.m. would have worked just fine, you know."

"I find it easiest to deal with you alone. Your brother is not my biggest fan."

"Can you blame him?"

Castiel almost smiled. "No."

"You hear? We're dealing with Persian arch-demons."

Castiel hadn't heard. His expression, if possible, became more serious. "That's not good. The daevas are powerful. It won't be easy to stop them. You've never run into anything like them before, Dean."

Dean made a face. "I've heard that a couple times. And hey, we took out the seven deadlies," he pointed out.

"The six arch-demons…we think they were the original seven deadly sins. They're said to be the fathers of the Horsemen."

"The Horsemen?"

Castiel's blue eyes were grim. "Of the Apocalypse."

"Right. Of course. _Those_ Horsemen."

"They don't just thrive off of destruction. They _are _destruction."

"Sounds like a cheery group." Dean grinned briefly, empty bravado. "We think you can kill them."

Castiel turned back to the window. "It'll take someone at a higher pay grade than me." He looked thoughtful, troubled, as if there was a solution he didn't dare venture to put foreword.

"What is it you're not telling me, Cass?" Dean asked. Castiel looked pained. He had not expected the daevas, and he was suddenly loathe to trust other angels. Uriel's betrayal had left him feeling paranoid and doubtful, even in others serving in the armies of Heaven. But what choice did he have against such and old and terrible evil? The demons that created the seven deadly sins were not an enemy to be underestimated, and they'd need all the help they could get -- if help was indeed what they were being offered, and not a knife in the back.

"I may know of an angel that can help," he said at last. Dean looked almost startled.

"That may be the nicest thing you've ever said to me, Cass," he said. And then the inevitable question: "Who?"

Castiel sighed deeply, not as cheered as Dean at the prospect of heavenly assistance. He said, "The archangel Gabriel."

"Archangel? As in, total badasses that protect prophets, archangel?"

Castiel nodded gravely.

"Since when do you pal around with archangels?"

"I don't." Castiel was firm and looked uncomfortable. "He found me."

"You sound like you don't trust him," Dean said, watching the angel closely. Castiel flinched, barely perceptively, but Dean still caught it. He remembered the angel's words to him on Halloween -- that he had questions, doubts. With all they had been through since then, it was no wonder those questions and doubts were amplified.

"He's an archangel, Dean. Of course I trust him."

Neither of them were convinced.

"But you say he's got enough juice to take care of these things?"

"So I would assume. With covering fire."

"I don't like it," said Dean, honestly, and mostly because Castiel didn't like it, "but I don't see what choice we have."

Castiel nodded. He had been thinking along the same lines.

"Can I ask you something, Cass?" Dean asked, suddenly, and his tone was thoughtful. Castiel motioned for Dean to continue, although he knew the man's penchant for asking the hard questions. "How did you know where to find Dad?"

Castiel didn't answer right away. Finally, he said, "I called in an old favor. I was led to your father."

Dean nodded and knew better than to enquire as to what kind of favor, and for whom. "And what about this girl he's inside of? Do you know anything about her?"

"Her name is Auden Pace, and she's from California. She's twenty-six, prior US Navy, and one of the faithful. She just got her Master's in Anthropology, with subconscious help from your father's wealth of knowledge, I'm sure. He's been in her since he escaped from Alistair. He leaves her alone, for the most part, unless he needs information."

"And then?"

"And then he assumes control. And he hunts."

"Dear ol' dad. Never changes." Dean's grin was wry. "Still…ex-Navy. That's a surprise. He used to say the only thing he liked about the Navy was the chow."

Castiel only looked at him, unfamiliar with American military humor. Dean shook his head and said, "Nevermind. You sure did your homework on her."

Castiel didn't reply and Dean felt the beginnings of a friendly suspicion form in his mind -- a friendly suspicion he kept to himself, for now, although it did make him smile. He stood beside Castiel and it almost surprised him how comfortable he had become with the angel. Castiel had once admitted to being sympathetic to Dean, to being too close to his human charges. And now Dean suspected the reverse was true. Somewhere underneath the serious dickness was a good guy -- a friend. Maybe their only friend in these end days.

"So a former sailor and a stranger archangel. That's what we've got."

"Not very good odds," Castiel said. Dean grinned again.

"I've had worse," he replied. He'd always wanted to say that. "You gonna make it to the party next time?"

Castiel laughed very quietly, the way he had back on Halloween. "I'll see what I can do," he promised.

Dean nodded. He turned back toward his bed. "Goodnight, Cass."

"Goodnight, Dean," replied the angel, and he had disappeared again when Dean looked back.

* * *

Bobby Singer was, quite legitimately, too old for this shit. He was getting tired, sometimes, mostly from trying to keep up with the Winchesters, all of whom had died once before. And now, two states away from the Winchesters' position in Ohio and ordered to sit on the sidelines, he realized he was tired of the whole damn war. He was tired of the old bachelor life, of seeing Sam and Dean -- practically his sons -- only in times of desperation and danger. He sat in his roadster outside of a motel and it took him a while to muster up the energy to head inside with his duffle and get a room. Then he hauled his miniature arsenal to the bed and pulled out his battered copy of the Qur'an. He began to seek out references to any arch-demons in the holy text, and then he paused.

"Dammit," he said, to no one in particular, angry but unsure why or at whom. He was in Indiana, that wasn't so far. He could make the trip to Ohio in a few hours, he didn't need to stop and sleep. Whatever it was that the Winchesters found themselves battling now, they'd need help. As much of it as they could get. Maybe he'd just go, show up for the big, bloody finale. It was too dangerous, Sam had said. Bobby had almost laughed. What in this life of his wasn't? And maybe, just maybe, he didn't want to be around to see the end, anyway. Let someone else hear the trumpets heralding the Day of Judgment. Bobby Singer hoped he'd be burned to ashes and spread over this land by a good strong wind from the Rockies by then.

But he wanted to go down fighting. It wouldn't mean much if he didn't -- after all, he'd been battling evil his whole life, and maybe there would be nothing glorious or heroic about his death ( he'd seen enough of death to know there was _never_ anything glorious or heroic about it, just grisly and sad ), but he would go down taking one of those nasty sons of bitches with him.

He wasn't sure where this line of thinking had come from, but he felt deep down in his bones that many things were approaching their end. He didn't intend to be sitting quietly while the battles waged elsewhere. He ignored the good sense in following Sam's advice and staying put, ignore the thirty-five dollars he'd dropped on the motel room, and he repacked his books and knives and guns, and he got back into his car. He was on his way to Ohio.

* * *

Ruby did not come into the hotel room where Dean and John were finishing off the last of the donuts Dean had grabbed for breakfast. Sam had to slip out into the parking lot to join her. He'd heard the familiar purr of her Chevy's engine before he'd caught a glimpse of her lurking outside. And the first thing he noticed was how anxious she looked. Her eyes were darting around and she looked ready to jump back into her car and disappear any second.

"Where the hell have you been, Ruby? I've been looking for you for weeks." Sam's eyes were wide and accusing. Ruby shivered.

"You gotta be the dumbest guy I ever met," she retorted. "You find out you're sitting on top of six of the world's oldest arch-demons and their little minion army, and you _stick around?_"

"We have to. We have to find out what kind of deal Lilith is trying to make, and we have to save these people." He took her shoulders. "You should get out of here, Ruby."

"I could say the same to you." She crossed her arms. "And as far as Lilith's deals, mum's the word. No one in her entourage knows."

Sam didn't look surprised -- he hadn't expected to get lucky. He shook her a little. "I'm serious, get out of here. Dad and Castiel are here, and you know Dean--"

"I get it, I get it, it's crowded." She rolled her eyes, then looked at him, concerned. "Sam. This isn't where you want to have a showdown. You're outnumbered, and Lilith would be all too happy to lure you into making a last stand here."

"We'll be okay, Ruby. We won't let her trap us here."

Ruby did not look appeased. But she drew out her knife anyway, and Sam pulled her toward the backseat of her car, suddenly eager. His fingers dug into her arms, but she didn't mind. She let him drag her into the car, even smiled a little.

"I shouldn't waste this on someone who's determined to finish this suicide mission," she said thoughtfully. Sam's fingers fumbled with hers for the knife. He was used to her teasing and now mostly ignored it. He gently opened a cut on her arm and lowered his mouth to it, his need beyond words or smart retorts. Ruby's head fell back and she scooted closer. She let him take from her for a few long minutes, the only sounds in the car being the creak of the leather seats and their clothes rustling like those of impatient lovers.

"Shoulda made you buy me dinner first," she said, and Sam's free arm tightened around her. Finally, she tugged his hair and pulled her arm away.

"Leave some for me," she chided, and he wiped his mouth off, looking up at her and obviously not quite sated. She brushed his hair out of his face, and he gently lifted her off of him. Then he reached for the door handle.

"I should go back."

Ruby was wrapping her arm in a towel she kept in the backseat. She waved a languid hand, dismissive but affectionate.

"Sam," she said as he climbed out. He poked his head back into the car. "Be careful."

"You're not staying?"

"I can't." She shook her head. "But I won't be far."

Sam nodded and disappeared back in the direction of the motel room. Ruby climbed into the driver's seat, and as she settled in, a hand smoothly reached over and pulled her keys from the ignition. Ruby jumped, gasping, and whipped her head around. Sitting there, calmly, was Castiel. He looked at her, that blank serenity annoying her as it always did.

"So what now, you send me back to hell?" she asked. Castiel only looked at her for a long moment. Then he stirred.

"What is Lilith after here?"

"How should I know? And why would I tell ya if I did?" She crossed her arms, her eyes black and spiteful.

"Hm." Castiel did not look so convinced. "What you're doing here, with Sam. You will stop."

"I'm giving him what he needs to stop Lilith."

Castiel only stared at her.

"Oh, go to hell." She made a grab for her keys. "What do you know, anyway? You think _Dean_ is gonna save you? Please."

"Stop what you're doing with Sam or I will send you so deep into Hell you won't know which way to start clawing back out."

She got her fingers on her car keys and Castiel was gone. She hesitated for only a moment, then she started the car and drove away from the motel, shaky. They were going to have to do something about the Winchester's angel infestation. And soon.

* * *

The morning dawned, and as the sun climbed into the sky, the Winchesters created an arsenal of homemade torches. To Dean, there was something therapeutic in the work, something soothing. Unlike so much else going on around him, this was a simple and straightforward task -- preparing himself for battle. There was almost a ritual to it. The men -- and one semi-female -- worked in silence, each lost in their own thoughts, and that was a comfort, too. Dean was not in a caring and sharing mood. Sam wasn't either. He seemed focused, angry, determined. All of this was fairly normal as of the last few months, but Dean noticed something else -- Sam looked as though he was healthier, more robust. Things that Dean had come to associate with a flux in his brother's powers. He hadn't seen Sam look so confident since he killed Alistair. And that worried him. Sam didn't seem to be in control of these sudden bursts of power.

Beside Sam was Auden -- or rather, John Winchester, hunter of legend -- and there was a familiar look of concentration on the girl's face, a tightening around her eyes Dean might have known anywhere. He wondered what sort of life she had been forced to leave behind, and if anyone missed her yet. He tried not to wonder if she would survive long enough to go home.

Finally, when they had three duffle bags heavy with improvised fire-starters, John/Auden called a halt. He looked from one son to the other, and then he gathered his gun and knife -- both loaners from Dean, who was already armed to the teeth.

"Let's go see if we can flush them out, discover where they're hiding."

Sam eyeballed the girl's slight form, frowning, but he made no comment. Clearly, their father was not concerned about her physical limitations, although he caught the same look on Dean's face. Still, they both shouldered their duffles and headed out, following John's lead. They trekked on foot through a cornfield, a creek, and a small tangle of trees. And as they were traipsing through another cornfield, John stopped. The girl's hand went into the air, motioning for the brothers to stop and be very still. Dean and Sam took flanking positions, both searching through the cornstalks for threats.

"Something's close," said John/Auden.

And as he finished speaking, Castiel appeared in their midst. He, too, was peering through the corn, searching. Alert. Though all three Winchesters jumped, none of them commented and the angel pointed east.

Almost as soon as he lifted his hand, they were attacked. It came at them, mostly in the form of a man, and it twisted through them, slashing and scratching, and a long, bloody seam opened up across Sam's chest and upper arm.

"Sam," Dean snapped.

"I'm fine." Sam has seen it disappear and knew they could not anticipate the angle of its next approach. He gripped a lighter in one hand and a bottle in the other, ready to set the thing aflame when it appeared again. He never got the chance. When it attacked next, it was Castiel that lashed at it, catching it across the face with a viciously accurate right hook, and it recoiled, hissing at the touch of something holy. It called Castiel something in a language older than Arabic, something Dean assumed was the equivalent of angel, and it was gone again, a nightmare of twisting blades and smoke. It appeared and disappeared at will while the Winchesters took a beating. Castiel was bleeding heavily as well after only a few minutes, but he was still beautiful to watch in action. He fought like good prose -- liquid and technical, striking the quick blows that would stick around long after the fight. He took a wicked slash to his face and his brow and cheek were bleeding, and he still landed a punishing blow to the thing's ribcage. It disappeared again, quick as a blink, and when it returned it was right behind John. John lit the torch and brought it to bear on the creature, but it grabbed the girl and disappeared -- and this time, it didn't come back.

"Dad?"

"Dad!"

Sam and Dean's voiced had rung out in unison, although both knew better than to expect and answer. Beside them, spitting crimson, was Castiel, and he looked fiercely grave. He wiped his broken lips with his coat, ignoring the blood that dripped over his cheek and down his neck. He stalked off through the corn, and Dean could see him here and there, constructing some sort of circle around them. Then the angel returned.

"Stay here," he ordered, and turned to go.

"No way. We gotta find dad," Sam snapped.

"Where do you think _I'm _going?" Castiel turned impatient eyes on the younger brother. "It will be faster for me to go without you."

"No way--" Sam started, but Dean stopped him.

"Cass is right. Let him mount the rescue." He was staring at the angel with an odd look in his eyes. "How do I get in touch with your pal?"

Castiel's mouth tightened for a moment. Then he said, with reluctance, "Pray. Invoke his name. He'll find you."

Dean nodded. "Good luck, Cass."

The angel was gone.

"What pal?" Sam demanded, turning on Dean. His older brother did not look pleased in the slightest.

"Gabriel," Dean replied with a sigh and a significant look in Sam's direction. "The archangel." He closed his eyes and began to concentrate while Sam processed.

"The _archangel?_"

"Yes," came a voice from behind them -- a smooth voice, an accented voice. "One of the first angels. And one of the four fortunate enough to have looked upon the face of God." He was smiling benignly, unperturbed by the brothers' battered appearance. "And I believe you could use my help."

"You got here quick," Dean said, his spine stiffening the way it always did when he dealt with angels.

"I've been waiting. You're protected, Dean -- I had to be invited. But I knew to expect an invitation. I had expected it to come from Cass--"

"Castiel," Dean said firmly, and Gabriel held up his hands, conciliatory.

"Castiel," he agreed. "But I'm glad it came from you. I have been looking forward to meeting God's chosen warrior. The man that would defeat Lucifer."

Dean didn't respond. The archangel seemed as smooth and friendly as a politician, and he had a better idea as to why Castiel had been so reluctant to invite him along.

"Can you help?" Dean asked. Gabriel nodded, his eyes far away for a moment.

"The enemy here is formidable, but I've been preparing for a long time." He looked at Sam and smiled again. "Did you know that King Xerxes once cast down a temple of the daevas? He condemned their worship and smashed their holy places while he conquered his empire." He paused. "He would have waged a war on heaven. As it was, Xerxes made the people of earth worship him as a god."

"Maybe we can resume the history lesson back at the motel, huh?"

"We're safe in the circle. Castiel is very thorough."

"Just the same." Dean felt very exposed in the middle of the cornfield, circle or no circle.

"As you please."

And just like that, the three of them were standing inside the Winchester's motel room.

"Shouldn't you help Cass rescue our father?" Sam asked. Gabriel shook his head.

"I would probably only drawn attention to his rescue mission at this point. Castiel will bring John Winchester back, and the girl."

Dean sat down on a bed. "Yeah, well -- thanks for the lift, but I think Sam and I should talk alone."

The archangel nodded. He disappeared, giving the Winchesters the privacy they'd requested. Once he was gone, Dean looked to Sam.

"Next he'll start kissing babies."

Sam grinned briefly. "Think dad's okay?"

"Cass'll get him." He opened his mouth to say something else, and then he got quiet. Sam gave him a funny look, but Dean did not appear to notice. And then, before he could ask, Castiel appeared in the middle of the room, cradling an unconscious Auden against his chest. She was bloody and wrapped in the angel's trench coat, and she'd lost a shoe at some point. It looked like the underside of her foot had been caned, and the girl was pale and limp in Castiel's arms.

"Dad!" Sam jumped up but Castiel shook his head.

"No. He left her body before they killed her for him." Castiel tightened his hold when Sam got closer, refusing to release the girl to him.

"So where's dad?" Sam asked.

Castiel shook his head. "I don't know."

"I do," said Dean. He looked up at them from his spot on the bed. Then he stood. "He's right here."

Sam stared at his brother, his eyes wide in his now-pale face. Then, in obvious disbelief, he said, "Dad?"

* * *

**Notes: **There are a lot of things I like about this chapter. There was Castiel revealing the existence of Gabriel to Dean. Ruby showing up to give Sam a little booster, and then getting cornered by Castiel. And perhaps my favorite thing: John's bum-rush possession of Dean.

I think there lives a sadist in me.

There are parts I'm not so fond of as well: Bobby's bit, for instance, was hard. And I found writing Gabriel was tougher than I expected. He has a way of mocking things, I think, which is very subtle and British and almost impossible to capture, and I'm afraid I don't quite have the skill. Oh well. You see the plot thickens. Sam's feelings about Castiel becoming a more permanent companion in Dean's life may or may not come into play, and Castiel wavers on the border of having _real_ emotions -- that lingering is what I think made him so compelling in the show.

And then there's now the duality of John and Dean locked in the same body. Dean is probably one of the most important elements of this story, it kind of revolves around him taking certain actions or making certain decisions. And this possession is part of _that._

Well, I'm done being cryptic for now. Please feel free, and in fact encouraged, to leave any kind of feedback. Thank you for sticking around through the third chapter, and I hope you enjoy number four!


	4. Chapter 4

**THE LAST DANCE  
****CHAPTER FOUR**

* * *

Dean nodded, and Sam clamped his jaw shut tightly. Even Castiel looked surprised. With more gentleness than Sam would have credited him with, he lowered the unconscious girl onto a bed. Then he straightened and turned to John/Dean. He seemed, for a moment, beyond words. It was clear he did not consider this turn of events to be favorable. At last, he found his voice.

"You chose Dean as a host?"

John/Dean nodded. "I had to."

Castiel shook his head. "You've shorted us a fighter."

"Auden is familiar with weaponry."

"She's got no experience against _demons_," the angel reminded him. "Not to mention the state that daeva left her in."

"You're an angel." John/Dean stared him down. "Do something angelic."

Castiel's fists clenched. Then he turned back to the girl. He did not look at either Winchester as he scooped her back up into his arms. He walked toward the door stiffly, without glancing back.

"I'm taking her to a hospital," he said, and was gone.

"Not," said John/Dean when he had gone, "what I had in mind."

He gathered up the duffles and took inventory, aware that Sam was still trying to catch up. He counted their fire bombs patiently, double-checked the fuel levels in their torches. The son of a bitch that had grabbed him had been quick, but next time he knew what to expect. He wouldn't be caught off-guard again, he just hoped the girl would be okay. He hadn't stuck around when he realized the daeva was only hurting the girl to get to him -- as soon as he'd fled, the demon's attention had slipped from her. Castiel had arrived just before he'd gone, and John had left the girl to the angel.

"Wait a sec, Dad--" Sam grabbed one of the duffles. "Just wait a sec. Where's Dean?"

"He's here, he's awake."

"You can't just go rushing back out there, Dad. We just got you back. We should take Cass and--"

John was already halfway through the door.

"Dad -- there's an archangel here. Gabriel. He's offering his help."

John stopped. "An archangel."

"Yeah." Sam dropped his arms to his side. "He came to Dean and said he wanted in on the fight."

"So where is he?"

Sam shrugged. "We asked him to let us discuss it. Cass…seemed reluctant and Dean is downright suspicious."

"Of an archangel."

"It's…complicated." Sam was slower to gather his things. "But maybe we should take him with us. Do you know where they took you? The daevas, I mean."

John shook his head. "It was dark -- maybe a cave or some kind of bunker. I didn't see much before I came to Dean."

Sam nodded. He had assumed as much. The trouble was Ohio was a state where basements and bunkers were commonplace, and though his father had mentioned caves, Sam could think of very few places near there where caves could be geologically possible. He made a mental note to obtain city records on the homes in the area with basements and tornado shelters, but he doubted the arch-demons would use any place that was kept public record of. Then his thoughts turned to the archangel. Dean was truly gathering the entire cast of Revelations around himself. He closed his eyes for a moment, breathed deeply and pushed everything out of his mind, and in that moment of quiet, he prayed. And after a moment, a warm hand clasped his shoulder. Sam opened his eyes and there was Gabriel. The archangel was smiling at him -- a serene smile, a reassuring smile.

"Is this him?" John asked, and Gabriel turned to him. John met his gaze, unperturbed, and the archangel nodded to himself. Unlike Castiel, he did not seem surprised to find the Winchester patriarch in the body of his oldest son.

"Hello, John," said Gabriel. "Your previous hostess is being tended to. She will be joining us soon. And I see you are prepared for a hunt."

John nodded. He did not seem to share Dean's suspicious, nor had he ever been surprised by the physical existence of angels, and suddenly Sam had a desperate desire to ask his father if he had ever believed in God, if he had prayed for their family in the way that Sam did at night, after Dean had fallen asleep. But now wasn't the time, and so he held his tongue.

"I can understand your fervor, Mr. Winchester, but it would probably be best to wait for my brother's return. I take it you don't want to rejoin your former host."

"Not for this," John replied, and though the voice was Dean's, Sam recognized the tone as purely his father's. John Winchester was Working ( it was Working and not just _working,_ which other men -- lesser men -- sometimes did ), and not to be dissuaded. Sam wondered if Dean was alright with this invasion. But Dean had always rolled over for their father. Sam couldn't see any reason why this might be any different. And though _he_ had a couple of protests, he kept his mouth shut. Arguing at this point would only be wasting time. But to his surprise, John had paused, seeming to accept the logic of waiting for Castiel as well. He slung his bag onto one of the beds and nodded slowly. Sam recognized this, too -- his father was tactically assessing the situation and the resources available. It was scary how quickly they fell into the old patterns.

"You're right. We'll wait on Castiel. Meanwhile, we'll strengthen our defenses here. Sam, call Bobby again, keep him updated. We may need to call in a few favors with some hunters and create a perimeter around this town."

And then there was a noise from the door, and they turned to see Castiel, with a bandaged but conscious Auden Pace standing beside him in his coat.

"That won't be necessary," Castiel said.

"Why?" Dean's voice was sharp, and for a moment Sam wondered if it was his father or his brother asking the question.

"Because Zachariah and the garrison are here, and they're destroying it."

* * *

Auden Pace slowly clawed her way back to consciousness, and the first thing she was fully aware of was that she was being carried, gently, and that her left foot was in _agony._ It was not the only place she hurt, but the pain there was much more present -- much brighter -- than her body's other complaints. It took a second to realize she was wrapped in a beige trench coat, and that the scent of the person carrying her was unfamiliar. But she didn't feel unsafe. In fact, it was quite the opposite. She felt safe as houses. She opened her eyes and realized how apt that thought was once she recognized that it was an angel caring for her.

"Castiel."

He looked down at her, aloof as always, but a little gentleness lingered about his eyes. "You're awake."

"You're an angel," she countered, remembering that much from before John had taken over.

Castiel nodded. He said, "You've been attacked. I've brought you to a hospital."

Auden looked up at the building he was standing in front of, and then her cheek sank back to his chest. "Don't need one. Just a little bandaging and a lot of liquor." She smiled faintly -- it was obviously an old joke -- and he opened his mouth to comment just as all hell -- or rather, heaven -- broke lose. From behind him, the sky opened and there came bright, crushing meteors, and as fires erupt and lights and glass burst, Castiel realized what was happening -- and that he'd been deliberately left unaware.

"Castiel!" Auden was struggling to get a look and her eyes had gone wide. He ducked instinctively at the sound of her voice and debris rocketed past their heads. Angels he knew, angels he had spent eternity fighting beside, were systematically tearing apart downtown Fredricktown. He shifted his hold on Auden and ran for some sort of cover -- an alcove in the side of the hospital -- and to Auden's credit, she did not panic, although her eyes were wide with fear and he could feel her pulse skyrocketing.

"What's happening?" she asked, watching the beautiful warriors mercilessly sacking the town. Castiel's mind was racing, asking questions he wasn't likely to get answers to, and he said, "They are smiting the town."

Auden went stiff. "_Smiting_?"

Castiel nodded and wondered what had ever seemed so right about this holy cleansing. Uriel might have found satisfaction in a job so efficiently being done, but Castiel found himself feeling hopeless and frustrated.

"We've got to get back to the others. Hang on." Quickly, he knelt and set her on the ground. He found a first aid kit in a car nearby and wrapped her foot, and she thought maybe it hurt less when he touched her skin, although he had not attempted to heal her. He finished her foot and moved to the gashes across her arm, and she shivered as she shrugged out of his coat to offer him access to the wounds. His fingers were a blur and he worked silently, and when he was done he tugged his coat back up over her again. He helped her stand and she looked back at the town. Much of it was burning already, and she could see a figure here or there moving from house to house. She heard no screams or panic however, and she wondered if that could be called a mercy. She thought of all the innocents here and she closed her eyes, feeling sick. She felt Castiel's cool, brief touch next, and when she opened her eyes again, she was standing next to him in a familiar motel room. She heard the angel tell the gathered what was happening, and felt it still was unbelievable, though she'd just seen it.

"They're destroying it." The man who wasn't entirely Dean repeated the angel, then walked to the window. He paused there, then strode back to the center of the room. It wasn't pacing, it was too focused a movement to be called that, but it did appear to be an unconscious ritual. "Are they trying to kill the daevas, or force them out of hiding?"

Castiel shook his head. "I was deliberately not informed." This seemed to concern him. It concerned the hell out of Sam. Events were spinning so rapidly out of control that he wasn't certain they'd be able to gain any sort of stable footing in this fight anymore. He looked to his father and saw his grim thoughts reflected in the other's expression. Castiel's eyes, in turn, had gone to Gabriel.

"Did you know?"

Gabriel shook his head. "I might have guessed, considering the rather old-school approach heaven seems to be taking these days. But no, no communication as to the destruction of this town was made to me." He looked at the junior angel. "Don't you trust me, Castiel? I'm on your side. My interest here is in preventing the coming of Revelations."

Castiel did not reply. Gabriel turned from him, and in that moment the divisions in heaven were clear to Sam, and he was scared by them. He had expected the angels, at least, to be unified -- they certainly couldn't fight all the forces of hell if they were divided, but there was something rotten at the core, something dead. He feared for the existence of God then, and then a thought struck him: he wondered if maybe Castiel did, too. He felt, not for the first time, that it was the Winchesters against heaven and hell, only the Winchesters that fought for humanity -- a humanity spiraling blindly to the end of its own existence.

"Whatever Zachariah's intentions, the daevas are dividing their army and splintering." Gabriel's voice was strained and he appeared to be concentrating very hard on something beyond their sight. "None of them so far have been destroyed. They are simply leaving this town to its destruction."

"Sentimental group," Auden said, wincing at the senseless loss of life here.

"Zachariah doesn't intend to send contingents of angels in pursuit, or so it would seem. My guess is because they may not be able to defeat the individual arch-demons in small groups."

"So what was a local problem just became a national one." John sounded tired.

"It will be a race -- they will all cause destruction, and the body count will probably be high. Unless we split up."

"Which will only get you all killed." Castiel shook his head. "We don't have a choice if we want to stop them. We have to stay together. And that means picking our battles."

Which meant letting some people die while they took on the isolated daevas one by one.

Inside his mind, Dean felt like a caged tiger. Mentally he paced, not fighting his father's possession -- and not pleased with it either. He felt the full sting of Zachariah's attack on the town, and knew from the look in Castiel's eyes that the angel too considered it an act of betrayal. His thoughts were whipping past him too quickly to be caught. Mostly, though, he hated the inaction, the _discussion._ He understood it to a degree, of course. Planning may not be his strong point, but he knew it had its uses. Still, there was a point at which planning was useless, like now, when things were unraveling around them too fast for anyone to catch the thread. They'd spent so much time researching and getting their asses kicked that now their problem had multiplied from one out-of-the-way town to multiple cities. And the angels had propagated that. Not for the first time, nor for the last, did he wonder which side the armies of heaven were on.

He ached to get moving, but he was not in control of himself anymore, and John was not willing to traipse willy-nilly across the country.

"What can you do for us, Gabriel? Can you fight?" he heard his voice ask, and his attention snapped to the archangel.

"He's no Michael," said Castiel, "but he can fight."

_And just where has he been hiding until now? How high up the food chain is this guy, and could maybe he be calling all the shots? Why else would Zachariah show up now, here, with a garrison of angels to back him up?_

But these questions weren't to be answered just then. And he believed Castiel's assurance that Gabriel could fight. Dean simply hoped he'd be fighting for them. Uriel's betrayal had not -- and would not -- be forgotten.

"How will we find them?" Sam asked. It was Auden who answered, to the surprise of the whole room, and she answered simply and correctly.

"They won't be hard to find -- they'll carve a path of destruction wherever they go, and they'll keep destroying until we come for them."

"There is no we." Castiel turned to her, and he had Dean's silent agreement. "Your part is over; you're going home."

Auden only looked at him.

"You can use me. I was a green-side hospital corpsmen, I can fight."

"No," said Gabriel. "Not when death bothers you so much."

But she was defiant. "I served two and a half terms in Iraq and Afghanistan. My job was to save dying soldiers. Of course death _bothers_ me. But it's not new to me either. I know how you fight -- John operates like a Marine, and so do his boys. And so do I."

"It's too dangerous," Castiel told her. "You're a civilian now."

She crossed her arms. "I haven't been a civilian in this fight since you recruited John Winchester. I can point and shoot, I can follow orders, and I'm good under pressure. Not to mention I can patch up those of us that are human."

"You're a wreck," John pointed out. But Dean understood now why John had chosen her and why he respected her -- she had been a field medic for deployed Marines, was practically a Marine herself. And Marines took care of their corpsmen.

"I'm fine." She did not put weight on her left foot, however, and they all noticed.

"John, you may have to find a new host--" Castiel started, and then he stopped, his blue eyes going unfocused. He looked as though he'd been made privy to something terrible, and Dean was afraid of the news. Castiel looked to him, _through _his father, his eyes still wide.

"Bobby -- it's Bobby."

"What's wrong with Bobby?" Sam snapped, fear sharpening the demand.

"He's in Fredricktown, and he's hurt," said the angel.

"Jesus. That's ground zero," said John at roughly the same time Dean thought it. Sam was already on the move, headed for the car. Gabriel stopped him with a touch.

"A car is too slow, and your weapons are ineffective against us. Castiel and I will retrieve him, and when we return, it will be time to leave this place and seek the daevas."

"But all the people--"

Castiel touched Sam's shoulder. "Most of them died, painlessly, when the garrison arrived."

And then, before the morality of that could be questioned, the angels were gone, and Sam collapsed onto a motel bed. He looked overwhelmed and shocked by the rapidly disintegrating events. Dean prowled mentally again, tired of waiting on angels. This was _Bobby_ -- they should have gone after him no matter what. But if there was a chance Gabriel was right and the Impala was too slow…Dean could not bear the thought of burying Bobby. And if the angels under Zachariah had already dusted him, well, then Dean would wage a war against them as best he could. But John was not listening to his internal rant. He was packing. Not that there was much of that to do.

"Sam," he said. "Flip on the news. If Auden was right, the omens that these daevas will cause will lead right to them. We'll just have to follow the disasters."

Sam flipped on the news while they waited. No major natural disasters in North America were pointing the way just yet, there was no direction to choose. He scanned through several news channels, but his thoughts were on Bobby, and he wondered just how much trouble their old friend was in.

* * *

**Notes: **I dreamed about angels systematically destroying a town. It didn't look anything like the real Fredricktown, but I think the imagery stuck with me, and I knew it was time for Zachariah. Bobby showing up was an accident, and not just for him. I wish I could have conveyed on paper what I had seen in my mind -- it was like reality unraveled right down main street. And the angels rescuing Bobby in the middle of it all. I was romanced, I suppose, by the destruction.

I wanted to continue to provide Dean with a voice -- perhaps an increasingly frustrated one -- through his father's possession of his body. And I suppose Auden's backstory is a nod both to some of my brothers and sisters in the service and my own Marine dad. I'm no corpsman, but I know a few. They're dedicated people, and anyway it seemed to explain a lot about her and her reaction to this situation she finds herself in now that she's been abandoned by John's spirit.

Anyway, I don't have a lot else to say about this chapter, but I hope you enjoyed it. I hope you'll hit that review button, and I especially hope you enjoy chapter five.


End file.
